{"id":1601,"date":"2017-08-16T11:56:06","date_gmt":"2017-08-16T11:56:06","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/rushmore.wpcolorlab.com\/?p=1601"},"modified":"2020-07-06T00:27:43","modified_gmt":"2020-07-06T00:27:43","slug":"short-story","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/ywrite.cdu.edu.au\/index.php\/2017\/08\/16\/short-story\/","title":{"rendered":"Finding a Peaceful Path: a short story from Holtze Prison"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Seven years, he says to himself, and at that moment a small silver rectangular speaker above his head comes to life and barks his name, \u2018T______, T_______\u2019,  the sound of a tin can echoing through his cell. He simply replies, \u2018Yes\u2019. He\u2019s been awake for hours just listening to the silence and waiting for the darkness to fade. In essence he\u2019s been waiting for years. The tin can with the echoing robotic voice says, \u2018Pack up your cell\u2019. At first he\u2019s confused: he knows the routine, he has to \u2013 it\u2019s become a part of his life, though this is different. But within a second comes understanding: \u2018You\u2019re going to solitary confinement\u2019, the tin can says. \u2018Bullshit\u2019, he replies, \u2018it\u2019s buy day\u2019.  Silence\u2026there is no reply, no explanation. But he doesn\u2019t need one \u2013 he\u2019s been waiting for this. He doesn\u2019t move, not yet, he knows unlock isn\u2019t for another hour at least, and so he lies still, lost in memories that have turned to nothing but shadows. It\u2019s been years since he\u2019s been to solitary. But even then it wasn\u2019t for long, not like this. It\u2019s a sad place, he knows that, though he\u2019s not angry, not anymore, only tired. <\/span><\/p>\n

He sits up and looks out through the black iron mesh that covers his cell window. It\u2019s a new prison.  They only finished building it a couple of years ago. But what he sees isn\u2019t anything new, only fences and walls, walls and fences. The last few weeks have been the hardest he\u2019s probably ever dealt with, harder even than when the judge first asked him to stand. That was just before his 24th<\/span> birthday \u2013 he\u2019s 30 now. What a waste. He pulls his gaze from the rows of fences and looks around at his cell, his life. So sad, he thinks to himself. He stands and begins organizing the few possessions he owns to be packed into his pillow case. They don\u2019t mean much except for his letters, though there is one item that is special. It\u2019s a book and in it he read that \u2018words could save a life\u2019. <\/span><\/p>\n

This is my life. My name is Max and as I write I am still in prison. I needed change. I needed to find words that were tangible, words I could see and hold. Words that held proof to what I wanted \u2013 simple words to be placed into simple sentences that held the power to change a moment from bad or the possibility of disastrous to something peaceful. I know and always knew in my heart that I would never stumble across a book or a spoken word that could change my life. I\u2019ve realized though, through these past years, that change needed to be a choice, a decision, a commitment, a need to be free, to always be free, not just in body but in spirit. For years I have been held within the confines of a state of mind. Prison has only really been the embodiment of that. I have found that the true jail has been the hold violence in my life has had upon me and how it has directly led to years of pain and loneliness. The past has come and gone and with it some of the best years of my life. I blame myself but more so I blame the hold violence has had upon me. <\/span><\/p>\n

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And so 3 weeks after getting out of solitary confinement I was lucky enough to find myself in the first ever AVP workshop in Darwin prison. It was fun and a chance for me to get out of the block. I laughed and I made friends, but just as importantly, I saw and held words in my hands that held within them a peaceful path I could follow \u2013 the beginning of a journey. <\/span><\/p>\n

I remember walking back to my block after the final day of the first basic workshop. I remember feeling happy I had finished something. I remember thinking with a smile across my face perhaps words can save a life. <\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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 The author has given permission for the use of this story online.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/header>\n
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